joyous part of her.
As they soared and burst together, Clarissa knew there would be no escape, no return to Baltimore. She belonged with this man, Wolf Heart or Seth Johnson or whatever he might choose to call himself. He was her love, her life.
Spent, they lay together on the carpet of blossoms. Even now she could not get enough of him. She curled against his side, savoring the hard-muscled smoothness of his body and the rich masculine aroma of his skin.
Through the bower of overhanging willows, the suncast dappled patterns of light and shadow over their bodies. Next time, she thought, drowsy with contentment, they would make love by the light of the moon. Kokomthena, their grandmother, who had fashioned men and women to enjoy each other’s bodies, would be very pleased.
Clarissa’s adoption took place the following afternoon. Wolf Heart had refused to tell her about the ceremony, saying only that it was forbidden for her to know the details ahead of time. With no reason to believe otherwise, she had assumed it would be a simple affair—an exchange of words, perhaps, or small gifts. She could not have been more wrong.
The food for the banquet was simmering over the cook fires—built with wood she had helped the women gather—when the drums called the people to assemble in the council house. Everyone—men, women and children—put aside their tasks and came.
Clarissa had never been inside the mysterious log building before. As she stood beside Swan Feather, her gaze explored the cavernous space, the massive roof beams, the battle trophies hung upon the walls—shields, lances, even scalps. This, then, was the heart of the village, the center of Wolf Heart’s world, and now her own.
The council house was large enough to hold all the people in the village. Although they entered smiling and chatting through the wide doorway hung with buffalo hides, even the children fell into respectful silence as they arranged themselves in rows on the hard-packed earthen floor. Light streamed in through the windows to glisten on their sleek black hair and coppery bodies.
Wolf Heart strode in and quietly took a seat on her left, his eyes betraying nothing. They had agreed to remainapart until her adoption, after which he could ask Swan Feather for her hand in the proper way by presenting the old woman with gifts. How much did the village know about what had happened between them? she wondered, glancing furtively around her. Was it possible to keep any kind of secret in this place?
Hunts-at-Night, with an air of great dignity, stepped before the gathered listeners and began to speak. His sonorous voice related the history of the Shawnee as a people, how they had come as wanderers to this, the valley of the Beautiful River. The recitation droned on for so long that Clarissa, seated cross-legged on the floor like the others, began to feel cramped and fidgety.
Her gaze shifted to Wolf Heart’s craggy profile. How majestic he looked today, with silver ornaments gleaming at his earlobes, his black hair twisted at the scalp lock and held by a small silver clasp, from which twin eagle feathers rose. Today he had added a handsome silver breastplate engraved with his symbol, the wolf. Beside him, she looked as drab and tattered as an old muskrat skin thrown out for the dogs to worry. If this was to be such a grand occasion, why had no one offered her anything to wear?
She was almost caught off guard when Hunts-at-Night asked her to stand. Reminding herself that the adoption was supposed to be a surprise, she scrambled to her feet and prepared herself to look astonished.
“You have lived among us and seen our ways.” The chief’s scar-slashed face was stern but his voice was kind. “Is it your wish to join with the Shawnee as the daughter of Swan Feather?”
Clarissa glanced down at the old woman’s beaming countenance. Moments ago she’d thought she would have to feign emotion, but now, as she felt everyone’s gazeon her, the
As they soared and burst together, Clarissa knew there would be no escape, no return to Baltimore. She belonged with this man, Wolf Heart or Seth Johnson or whatever he might choose to call himself. He was her love, her life.
Spent, they lay together on the carpet of blossoms. Even now she could not get enough of him. She curled against his side, savoring the hard-muscled smoothness of his body and the rich masculine aroma of his skin.
Through the bower of overhanging willows, the suncast dappled patterns of light and shadow over their bodies. Next time, she thought, drowsy with contentment, they would make love by the light of the moon. Kokomthena, their grandmother, who had fashioned men and women to enjoy each other’s bodies, would be very pleased.
Clarissa’s adoption took place the following afternoon. Wolf Heart had refused to tell her about the ceremony, saying only that it was forbidden for her to know the details ahead of time. With no reason to believe otherwise, she had assumed it would be a simple affair—an exchange of words, perhaps, or small gifts. She could not have been more wrong.
The food for the banquet was simmering over the cook fires—built with wood she had helped the women gather—when the drums called the people to assemble in the council house. Everyone—men, women and children—put aside their tasks and came.
Clarissa had never been inside the mysterious log building before. As she stood beside Swan Feather, her gaze explored the cavernous space, the massive roof beams, the battle trophies hung upon the walls—shields, lances, even scalps. This, then, was the heart of the village, the center of Wolf Heart’s world, and now her own.
The council house was large enough to hold all the people in the village. Although they entered smiling and chatting through the wide doorway hung with buffalo hides, even the children fell into respectful silence as they arranged themselves in rows on the hard-packed earthen floor. Light streamed in through the windows to glisten on their sleek black hair and coppery bodies.
Wolf Heart strode in and quietly took a seat on her left, his eyes betraying nothing. They had agreed to remainapart until her adoption, after which he could ask Swan Feather for her hand in the proper way by presenting the old woman with gifts. How much did the village know about what had happened between them? she wondered, glancing furtively around her. Was it possible to keep any kind of secret in this place?
Hunts-at-Night, with an air of great dignity, stepped before the gathered listeners and began to speak. His sonorous voice related the history of the Shawnee as a people, how they had come as wanderers to this, the valley of the Beautiful River. The recitation droned on for so long that Clarissa, seated cross-legged on the floor like the others, began to feel cramped and fidgety.
Her gaze shifted to Wolf Heart’s craggy profile. How majestic he looked today, with silver ornaments gleaming at his earlobes, his black hair twisted at the scalp lock and held by a small silver clasp, from which twin eagle feathers rose. Today he had added a handsome silver breastplate engraved with his symbol, the wolf. Beside him, she looked as drab and tattered as an old muskrat skin thrown out for the dogs to worry. If this was to be such a grand occasion, why had no one offered her anything to wear?
She was almost caught off guard when Hunts-at-Night asked her to stand. Reminding herself that the adoption was supposed to be a surprise, she scrambled to her feet and prepared herself to look astonished.
“You have lived among us and seen our ways.” The chief’s scar-slashed face was stern but his voice was kind. “Is it your wish to join with the Shawnee as the daughter of Swan Feather?”
Clarissa glanced down at the old woman’s beaming countenance. Moments ago she’d thought she would have to feign emotion, but now, as she felt everyone’s gazeon her, the
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